He grins, the playful expression bordering on manic as he tilts his head to the side, "Welcome home, Cormac."
Chapter 7
Stubborn Fucking White Men
CORMAC
Igroan from the overwhelming pain ricocheting through my skull, "I don't think you're supposed to abduct your boss."
He laughs, "Oh, Jesus, you're all fucked up in the head, aren't you?"
I don't answer, my gaze darting around the room to find the handful of beefy security waiting for me to make a wrong move.
"You're not my fucking boss," he grins. "We're partners. Besties, even."
"Then why the kidnapping routine?"
He looks around us at his security before shooing them away.
Once they've all left, he tilts his head the other way, watching me like a toy a cat's ready to pounce on. "You've been gone almost a year, man. And suddenly you're here. Can't be too careful. I figured if I played it up, roughed you up a little, anyone keeping an eye on you would spring into action or some shit."
"Well, it's not like I've been gone by choice. I've been half dead formonths, mostly dead for months before that," I let my head fall onto the chair behind me. "They asked me about you, ya know."
He nods slowly before circling behind his desk and searching it for something.
"Ah, there we go." Pulling out a bottle of very familiar mead, he pours two drinks, handing me one before taking a small sip of the other. "I figured they'd ask. After the investigators came by with a few questions and got nothing useful out of me, I was a bit worried that it meant they’d be on my doorstep, finding me bloodied and half-dead next."
"So you knew."
With a beaming grin, he nods again. "You think it's a coincidence you got away with it for so long? You just missed your girl, by the way."
"My girl?" He has to be talking about the woman from the pictures.
Swigging the last of his glass, he confirms my hope, "Yeah, the hot brunette with legs for fucking days? She’s been here a lot lately with a group of friends. Spent an hour downstairs last weekend, too."
Downstairs?
The confused look on my face must give away more than I mean for it to.
"Oh, my god, how much of your brain went through the fucking blender?" he groans in annoyance.
Taking a drink of the honey wine, I shrug. "Last thing I remember clearly at this point is maybe 2020. There’s a few memories here and there since, but nothing concrete.”
“Jesus,” he breathes out heavily. "Well, we’ll just have to ease you back into our world.”
“Our world?”
He nods, relaxing against the desk, “Aside from ya know, the killing, we are very busy men. Did they ask you at all about our companies?”
I shrug. “Not really. All I know is I woke up without any memoryof being a scumbag, and everyone around me constantly reminding me that I am. No one asked about my professional life at all.”
His lips pull in an uncomfortable frown, stretching his cheeks like they’re unused to the expression.
“You were never a scumbag,” he says. “You just handled problems a little bit outside of the norm.”
“Thenorm?” I scoff out a laugh. “I killed people.”
“Only people who deserved it. And we did a lot of good, too! Westilldo a lot of good,” he insists.
